


The Last Twenty Minutes

by Nyxwrites



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Kid!Lock, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxwrites/pseuds/Nyxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>8 year old Mycroft Holmes never intended to attend school but now he’s stuck there in the name of socialization. At least his seat mate, Gregory Lestrade, is willing to attempt to pull Mycroft from his shell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Twenty Minutes

The classroom’s walls were far too cheery for Mycroft Holmes’ taste. At 8 years old, he should be in a classroom with a little more maturity. In fact, if he had his way, he’d be at home with a tutor in their library. His plans for his education had not included the birth of his little brother Sherlock the year before and his parents’ insistence for him to have something of a social life. Despite his citing of multiple works suggesting that dogs must be socialized and arguing that therefore his parents were likening him to a dog, he still end up in the classroom.

Mycroft sighed. Situations like this had to be handled diplomatically. He would concede to spending his days among the other children and nauseating colours. In turn, he would be allowed to spend his home time buried in the library with a good book and a selection of classical music. Perhaps he’d convince his father to read Shakespeare to him tonight, even if there were several character deaths.  
Around him the swirl of children grew as the students arrived. Most were pleased about their new classroom and teacher. A few were crying. To his left, a mother consoled a boy she called Anderson, who bawled while clutching a toy dinosaur. Bored, Mycroft picked his way through the mess of proud parents and excited children to his assigned desk. The desks were unfortunately in pairs. This would require interaction with his seat mate without other students to distract them. His desk had a name tag, white paper with only his full name printed across it in block letters. Beside that a well sharpened pencil depicting what appeared to be hammers sat as a gift from his new teacher, a woman he was to address as Mrs. Hudson. The desk attached to his, connected by what was the front, had a similar set up. The name on the card read “Gregory Lestrade” and the pencil had small teddy bears.

“Bugger,” the boy who came to claim the desk declared upon seeing his pencil. He was a bit shorter than Mycroft and more bulky, in a pleasant sort of way. His hair was blonde, almost to the point of silver and he wore a light blue ensemble including a shirt that read “New Scotland Yard” in faded text. “Teddy bears,” he clarified, though Mycroft could see from the direction of his glance that he was talking about the pencil. Mycroft looked him in the eye, though he was paying little attention. His father had taught him that one; quite necessary for government work he was assured. “Wanna trade?” Gregory asked, already leaning over Mycroft’s table to inspect his pencil. “If you wish,” Mycroft responded, gently shoving the pencil towards the boy, hoping to detach Gregory from his table.

Gregory grinned, a rather broad one which lit his face and Mycroft couldn’t help staring for a moment longer than necessary. “What an honest smile,” he thought. Gregory had taken his seat with his new pencil, tossing Mycroft the one with teddy bears which Mycroft caught with ease. The rest of the day was predictable. They decorated their name tags; Mycroft just signed his while Gregory added a surprisingly well drawn depiction of emergency vehicles to his. They played idiotic get to know you games and watched a film. If that day was a mark of anything to come, this school year would be rather boring.

Mycroft was not disappointed in that respect. He watched his classmates play ridiculous games and chatter as he focused on educational endeavours such as finishing ‘Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of Earth’. Predictably, Gregory made friends. A girl named Sally and a boy named Dimmock. Anderson also picked up a habit of following them around, and quickly became part of the group. Mycroft observed Gregory’s strong sense of loyalty with a smile. He stood up for Dimmock when the older children attempted at clever yet insulting nicknames, he wiped Sally’s face after a game of football left her muddy and he was always sure that Anderson got the dinosaur cookie at snack time. Mycroft learned that Gregory’s father had done some time with the Yard before becoming a school teacher in hopes of spending more time with his family. Apparently, that had not quelled the man from telling Gregory many stories about the coppers and his time there. Gregory even wrote “Police Officer” as his desired career to be “just like Dad.” Unless required, Gregory left Mycroft alone during class, learning Mycroft’s half attention trick relatively quickly. Mycroft thanked his discretion, happy he hadn’t been stuck with that Carter fellow who could not seem to shut up.

Regardless of his discretion in class, Gregory always made himself come over to where Mycroft sat during break time, without his entourage of friends. Every day for the final 20 minutes of break time, he insisted in coaxing Mycroft in to weary conversation. They discussed books, sports and a manner of other things, though these conversations consisted mostly of Gregory speaking. Mycroft came to enjoy these daily engagements and within a month he started to expect them, going as far as to one day seek Gregory out when he was late. Gregory had a clear understanding of people and never once mistaked Mycroft’s unwillingness to open up as shyness. As he spoke Gregory often drew in the sand at their feet instead of staring at Mycroft. Mycroft loved to watch the sand go from a sifting sea to a work of art in a manner of moments. Sometimes, Gregory even started drawing Mycroft, but he always cut himself off for reasons Mycroft did not understand. Perhaps his face was difficult to draw, if the family portrait above the mantel piece was any indication.

Mycroft’s Mummy and Daddy still insisted on asking him about friends and such, each day even though that never had been a prosperous vein of conversation. At first, Mycroft said nothing about Gregory, assured that accepting he had a possible friend would extend his stay at that simpleton place of education. As he became closer to Gregory he found he did not want to leave. Certainly most parts of school were insufferable save Friday cake snack and surprisingly well equipped library, but he knew leaving meant quitting break time conversations with Gregory. His parents cheered the tentative announcement that he had a friend, practically clapping each other on the back. Mycroft even wondered if his father was going to take out a cigar in a celebratory smoke. His nanny Anthea was equally pleased to hear the news, though she had guessed. After all it always fell to Anthea to drop Mycroft off and pick him up from school.

-x-

Sometime in mid-October Mycroft found himself in a shocking situation. He was given detention for calling another child an “insufferable pinhead,” though Mycroft was certain that said child had not even understood the insult. Mycroft would be held in during break time and this caused him remarkable distress. He had not realized up until now just how much he cared and relied on Gregory’s appearance each day during break time. He had begun compiling a mental list each morning for things he needed to tell Gregory. Today that list would go unsaid, and a specifically interesting story had come up on the tele the night before.

Mycroft sat in his desk, as instructed, watching the clock click minutes and seconds. Mrs. Hudson left the room once she decided Mycroft would not be acting up to “catch herself a spot of lunch.” At the appointed time Gregory would make his usual visits, Mycroft found himself frowning. He felt shockingly lonely and was busy musing this emotion when a hand descended on his shoulder. Mycroft jumped from the unexpected contact before realizing it was Gregory with a devil of a smile on his face. “I snuck in,” he informed Mycroft quietly, still grinning. Mycroft found his own face rounding into an underused smile. “You’ll get in trouble,” he cautioned. Gregory waved him off, “Mrs. Hudson won’t get that mad. I’m sure she was hoping she could have said the same to that kid anyway.” Mycroft eyes widened, “I thought you liked everyone in this class.”  
Gregory snorted and shook his head. “I put up with them all, but I don’t like all of them, “he explained, settling himself down in his own chair and grabbed Mycroft’s undecorated name card. “You never drawed on this,” he commented, tracing Mycroft’s signature with his fingers. “Drew,” Mycroft corrected, “and no, I never saw the purpose of it.” Gregory laughed. “You love artsy stuff like music and books but can’t handle some simple art?”

Mycroft frowned, “It’s all art though, and I like your drawings.” Gregory’s cheeks went unmistakably red, “Thanks,” he mumbled. Mycroft shoved his pencil towards Gregory. “You decorate it,” he insisted. Gregory nodded and gripped the pencil, adding briefcases and British flags around Mycroft’s name. As he watched Gregory’s hands slide across the paper, Mycroft began his story of last night’s tele bit. Gregory smiled secretly, he could hear how planned Mycroft’s speeches were, but he liked that Mycroft put the effort in just for him.

-x-

Gregory and Mycroft continued their break time meet ups and the weeks tumbled past. The holiday season rolled around, and Mycroft’s parents had gotten exhausted with stories of Gregory. They insisted Mycroft broaden his horizons with some other mates, and thus concluded that a holiday party would be a good way to meet some of the other children. They insisted that Mycroft and Sherlock dress in embarrassingly matching jumpers knit by Mummy. Mycroft felt ridiculous in his sweater as the day of the event rolled around. Mummy had put out food and started piping soft holiday music. On the side of the room, Mummy placed two crowns for electing a holiday Prince and Princess. She devised a set other party games for the children and left drinks for the adults.

The children piled in excitedly, the girls in sweet dresses and the boys in their usual school outfits. Mycroft picked at his sweater, for the first time in his life he was embarrassed. Gregory was going to see him like this. Mycroft sunk to the edge of the room, pretending to grab a cheese slice for Sherlock when a familiar faced dropped in. The smile on Gregory’s face across the table made him blush and he raised his hands to cover the worst of the sweater. Gregory was in a smart suit, a blue and red handkerchief sticking from his pocket. “Hey Myc,” he greeted Mycroft, who uncharacteristically dropped the cheese he was carrying. This was his home, his safe place. He wasn’t used to putting up his walls as strong around here, and now it felt like the entire world was invading. Gregory used that name again to disarm him, a nickname that he’d started using around November, one lunch in the leaves. Mycroft put on a smile and Gregory circled the table to take his hand. “Come on mate, let’s go say hi to Sally,” he insisted half dragging Mycroft across the room towards the other children. Mycroft spent much of the night hiding near Gregory’s shoulder. His back was kept straight, and to the guests he was just standing with the other children. But to him, he was hiding in plain sight, behind the mask that kept the other children from bothering him with their frivolities. He hated caring for people, and he felt like the only one who noticed what caring did to people. He saw their grief, their pain and they never seemed to see the source. Even at 8 he found this a simple concept, and avoid people in general. Gregory had worked hard to pull him from that shell and make Mycroft understand that caring wasn’t always a weakness.

-x-

The party went on for some time until the children started to show signs of exhaustion. Mummy then clapped her hands for attention and declared that it was time to elect the Prince and Princess of the dance. Everyone shut their eyes as instructed to raise their hands in a silent vote. One vote for Prince and one for Princess, no more no less. Mycroft voted Sally for Princess and Anderson for Prince knowing both of them would be pleased to be awarded the silly crowns.  
The voting did not last long and when Mycroft opened his eyes he noticed a troubled look on Mummy’s face. Something had gone wrong with the voting. Mycroft frowned; Mummy had worked too hard on this party for something to go wrong. She held up her hand and paused, “We have an unusual selection tonight,” she paused again. “Our royalty is Mr. Gregory Lestrade and my own son Mycroft Holmes.” Someone in the back of the room gasped and Mycroft felt his face pale. Surely Gregory wasn’t elected Princess which meant he was. The pink crown and all its jewels mocked him from the front of the room. Mycroft saw no dignity in a pink crown and hated bright colours anyway. At least the Prince crown was a muted blue. He looked over at Gregory whose face was marred with what looked to be embarrassment. Of course Gregory didn’t want to win this with him. He probably wanted to win it with Irene, the prettiest girl in the class according to his classmates.

Mycroft’s fears bubbled and quipped but he forced his feat to remain planted in their spot. His resolve did not last when he heard a very loud voice from the back of the group declare, “Look, Irene, Mycroft stole your princess crown.” It was Kate, Irene’s bestest friend. Mycroft’s feet moved on their own accord as he ran from the room, tears burning in his eyes as he fought to hold them back. He ran on habit for his special place in the house, the library, not noticing the sound of feet following him. Mycroft threw himself down next to the desk in between the strong bookshelves, hiding behind an open decorative umbrella. As he sat there, he attempted to control his tears, counting backwards. He was on two when a familiar voice interrupted. “One,” Gregory said. Mycroft poked his head out and saw Gregory place the crowns down on the desk. “I’m not coming out,” Mycroft threatened as best he could despite his tear streaked face. Gregory grabbed some paper and a black pen from the desk before crawling under the umbrella with Mycroft. His knees tapped into his friend’s to fit them both under the umbrella. “They were not very nice,” Gregory commented watching Mycroft’s face. Mycroft frowned. “My reaction was unneeded,” he replied. “You are allowed to cry,” Gregory picked up the pen and started to draw someone. “It was a silly game,” Mycroft muttered.

“Then why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” Mycroft mused. “You should be happy, you’re Prince.”

“No,” Gregory looked up, “I’m Princess, and you are the Prince.”

Mycroft bit his lip. Gregory was drawing himself, not Mycroft yet again. “I’m a minor person, not anyone’s royalty.”

“Wrong. You are my Prince.” Gregory had finished his drawing and was now looking Mycroft in the eyes, a blush spreading pink over his cheeks. Mycroft’s eyes widened and look of confusion befuddled Mycroft’s features. Gregory continued, “I like you, like like you, like love and stuff.” He looked embarrassed.  
“Then why do you never draw me?” Mycroft looked down at the picture of Gregory. His wide grin, a doughnut in hand and his favorite coat on. “I draw you a lot,” Gregory admitted sheepishly, “I thought you wouldn’t like me if you knew I like liked you.” Mycroft felt stunned. “I don’t care! You are my only real friend, my only special person. Even if you love me that isn’t going to change.” Gregory’s grin widened, taking his face. It lit his eyes. Mycroft shoved the paper closer to Gregory. “Draw me,” he ordered.

And so Gregory did, filling the paper with Mycroft’s features and adding an umbrella. Once he was done, he left the safety of the umbrella long enough to find scissors and colours before returning. “You colour me and I colour you,” he suggested. Mycroft nodded, carefully cutting along the lines and colouring inside them. Gregory on the other hand was easier about it. He didn’t cut right along the edges, and his colouring was a bit scrambled. Once Mycroft finished he looked at Gregory, “What now?”

“Get out from under the umbrella, and come with me.” Mycroft nodded, putting his trust in Gregory. Gregory picked up both the paper dolls and the crowns. He took Mycroft’s hand and led him down the hall towards the party. Gregory didn’t pull this time, but applied enough pressure to move Mycroft and keep him moving.

Near the entrance to the party was a table with a lamp on it. The lamp had been decorated with extra party decorations and looked like a miniature version of the dancing area a few metres away. There Gregory propped up the paper dolls placing them so they looked like they were dancing together. “See!” he said proudly, “We’ve just got to be happy like them and then the bullies won’t be able to get us.” Mycroft’s stared at the dolls and thought for a moment, “Eleanor Roosevelt once said ‘No one can hurt you without your consent.’” Gregory nodded, “I have no idea who that is, but yeah.”

Mycroft nodded slowly and straightened his back. He was Mycroft Holmes, one day he’d be part of the British Government, and he’d be happy. But nothing said he couldn’t be happy right now. He was Mycroft Holmes, and he couldn’t be pulled down by a bunch of children, even if they were the same age as him. “I’ll go,” he declared.

Gregory grinned and held out the Prince crown, “Be my Prince?” he asked. Mycroft found himself grinning back as he pulled the crown from Gregory’s grip and placed it on his head. Gregory plunked the Princess crown on his own head and gave Mycroft a ridiculous bow. “My prince,” he declared with a laugh, taking Mycroft’s hand again.

They walked into the party room like that, hand in hand. A few children had left while they were gone, too tired for the drama, but most of the party still remained. Kate whispered furiously to Irene when she saw the duo, but Sally gave them a thumbs up. Gregory pulled Mycroft to the center of the room and held Mycroft like a ballroom dancer does. Mycroft felt startled, but everyone was watching. He carefully placed his own hands to match Gregory’s positioning. With a trained step, Anthea had taught him a few steps of the waltz, Mycroft began to lead Gregory around the room. Mummy smiled, Sherlock looked bored and not a single person laughed or jeered. “Told you so,” Gregory said smugly. Mycroft smiled, just for Gregory, “Thank you,” he said. Then under the twinkling lights, in a silly sweater surrounded by people he gave Gregory a quick kiss on the cheek.

Down the hall, the paper dolls held on to each other, supported to standing by each other’s posture. After the party things were cleaned up and put away, but Mycroft rescued the dolls. He placed them on his bed side table, still together where they belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been tossing the idea of a writing Mystrade around for a bit but couldn’t think of a single idea, until I was inspired by mystradedoodles on tumblr paperchibi’s to write this. It’s all fluff and cuteness. I have no idea what Mycroft’s paperchibi will look like so WHOOT for artistic license. Thanks to Shika for helping me brainstorm and reading this thing. (this was written several months prior to posting)
> 
> Disclamier: I don’t own Mycroft or Lestrade or Anyone Else


End file.
